Just Breathe
by kaly
Summary: What if they'd been just a little bit later? An AU that branches off from the end of 'Skin'. Gen. Contains spoilers for 'Skin'.


Title: Just Breathe   
Author: kaly   
Category: Gen; episode-tag; angst   
Rating: K+   
Spoilers: Skin   
Summary: What if they'd been just a little bit later? An AU that branches off from the end of 'Skin'. 

Notes: Up until now I've pretty much stuck to writing from Sam's POV, as Dean's voice tends to elude me but I'm giving it a shot. Hope it sounds right. :)

Disclaimer: Not mine. The pretty, snarky, angsty brothers belong to the WB & CW.

Just Breathe

As Dean jumped out of the car he was only half-aware of the woman running behind him. He could hear Rebecca struggling to keep up but his sole focus was on what they would find inside.

Reaching the front door, he gave half a thought to busting it open before trying the handle. Dean rolled his eyes when it opened with hardly any pressure. Pulling the gun from where it had been hidden under his jacket, he stalked through the house following the noises that came from just out of sight.

When the house suddenly fell silent, Dean sped up - the lack of sound more worrisome than the brief crashes he'd heard from outside. Breathing heavily, he burst into the next room, weapon ready. What he saw made his blood run cold. His doppelganger was standing behind a couch, staring at something - or someone, Dean feared - at his feet.

"Hey!" Dean called, aiming the pistol.

The shape-shifter turned, meeting Dean's eyes for a moment before bolting. Dean neither thought nor blinked; he merely aimed and fired. Once, twice, three times before the other fell. For a long moment, Dean could only stare at where it lay, dead.

"Sam!"

Rebecca's cry tore Dean's attention away from the shape-shifter and his gaze landed on the form that had been hidden from view. He watched, breathless, as Rebecca ran toward Sam - everything seeming to happen in slow motion. Breaking from his stupor, Dean ran toward his brother, gun dropping from nerveless fingers as he sank to his knees.

"Sammy?" Dean whispered, reaching out hesitantly. When Sam didn't move, Dean touched his face, feeling for breath but finding none. "Sam," he repeated, an edge to his voice. "Sammy, come on. Wake up." Dean grabbed Sam by the shoulders and shook him roughly. "Sam!"

"Dean..." He ignored Rebecca's hesitant voice and even more hesitant touch on his arm. He disregarded Rebecca pulling away, only half-heard her speaking into the phone.

"No," he said, shaking his head. Dean's voice quivered, his breath coming in harsh gasps. "No, no, no. This is _not _happening."

Frantically trying to remember the lessons their dad had forced upon them, years before, Dean tilted Sam's head back and covered Sam's mouth with his own. He forced two breaths into Sam's lungs. Dean fumbled backwards, threading his fingers together, trying to find the right position for his hands on Sam's chest.

He pressed downward, fifteen compressions on Sam's chest before moving back to Sam's mouth. Two more breaths. He felt for a pulse but found nothing. Fifteen compressions. Two breaths.

"Damn it, Sam. Don't you even think about doing this," Dean muttered, counting the compressions in his head, his gaze never leaving Sam's lax face.

His hand shaking, Dean pressed his fingers against Sam's throat again. The faintest of flutters beneath them almost sent him crashing to the floor. "That's it!" he cried, feeling next for breath against his hand. His relief was short-lived when there was none and he again breathed for Sam.

"Fight, damn you," he said, when Sam still did not breathe on his own.

Distantly, Dean heard a commotion. He ignored whatever it was, focused solely on forcing air into Sam's lungs. When hands latched onto his arms, pulling him backwards, he fought them off. "No!" he cried, reaching once more for Sam.

"Dean!" Rebecca, some faint part of Dean's mind registered. "It's okay. The paramedics are here." When he still fought, he felt her fingers tighten on his arm as she added, "_Please_, Dean."

He fell backwards, tripping over his own legs as he landed on the floor. He couldn't look away as the paramedics surrounded Sam. Dean worried that if he let Sam out of his sight - if he even blinked - he might lose him. And there was no way they'd come this far to lose one another now.

"His airway's closed," he heard one of the men say. "We've got a pulse."

"On it," another replied, before wedging an instrument into Sam's mouth, followed by a tube. "We're in," he said, attaching a bag to the tube and compressing it slowly.

The world seemed to tilt and slow as Dean watched the two men stabilize his brother. When one approached him, Dean waved them off. Instead the paramedic turned to Rebecca and began to tend to her reopened wounds.

He saw one of the numerous people now swarming into the room do a double take, between him and the skin-walker but Dean ignored him. There would be time to sort out that particular confusion later. Anytime later when Sam was okay, and breathing on his own and awake.

"Sir?" Dean jumped, looking away from Sam for a moment. "We're ready to leave, if you'd like to come with us." Dean nodded, a small jerking movement, grimacing as he stood. True to the man's word, Sam had been loaded onto a stretcher and was being wheeled from the room.

"Come on," the man continued, grasping Dean's elbow. "You can ride in the ambulance with us."

"Thanks," Dean replied, his voice rough.

As he left the room, Dean thought of the _thing _with his face lying dead behind him. But as much as his doppelganger had bothered him before, with Sam lying unconscious in front of him, he couldn't bring himself to care what would happen to the other.

The ride to the hospital was a blur, as was filling out the numerous forms the hospital insisted needed to be completed before Dean could see his brother. He managed to shuffle through the insurance cards before settling on one he thought would work. They would be lucky if the forms were legible anyway; his hands kept shaking at odd intervals.

Although it felt like days, in actuality it was only a couple of hours before he was allowed to see Sam. The room was quiet, the steady hiss of the ventilator and the beeping of the heart monitor the only noises. And while he hated the sounds that were helping keep his brother alive, Dean couldn't help but listen for each beep of the monitor, fearing what might happen if the next one didn't come.

He'd been sitting beside Sam, doing little but watching the artificial rise and fall of his chest, when a doctor entered the room. Silence continued to reign as the older woman checked Sam's vitals before she turned to look at Dean. She smiled then, a quirked, half-smile. "He's going to be fine," she told him, echoing what the first doctor had insisted when he'd led Dean to Sam's room.

Dean jerked his chin in the direction of the ventilator. "Then what's up with that?"

"The after-effects of Sam's being strangled caused his throat to swell shut. It's why the CPR was able to restart his heart but not help him breathe. This is just to help him until the swelling goes down."

Dean nodded before forcing himself to ask the question he'd feared since finding his brother lying lifeless on the floor. "What about..." He swallowed, nervously. "How long is too long without air?" he finally asked, looking at Sam instead of the doctor.

She smiled again and while it should probably have been heartening Dean couldn't help but mistrust it. "We're keeping an eye on it," she replied, indicating one of the monitors beside Sam's bed. "But it looks positive so far."

"Really?" Dean asked, afraid to believe until Sam opened his eyes and talked to him.

The doctor nodded. "Really. We'll know for sure when he's awake but we have no reason to believe otherwise. Your brother is a very lucky young man."

Dean gave her a lifeless smile. "Yeah. I'm not so sure about that."

"Go home," she said, attaching Sam's chart to the bed. "Get some rest. Things will look better in the morning."

"I'm not leaving." Dean scooted his chair closer to Sam's bed, close enough to reach his hand through the rails and grasp Sam's if he had wanted. And maybe he did, though he wouldn't admit it to Sam, much less a stranger.

"Mr. Allman, you need rest also. You're of little use to your brother if you collapse."

Dean gave the doctor a mega-watt grin he didn't remotely feel. "Hey, I'm fine. Nothing to worry about here. Just let me stay."

With a sigh, the doctor shrugged. "Suit yourself. But stay out of the way of the staff, understand?"

"No problem," Dean agreed, his attention once more on Sam and not the doctor.

Once she left, Dean gave into the compulsion to cover Sam's hand with his own. Only then did he let himself relax enough, lulled by the beeping monitors, to fall into a light sleep.

It felt like he'd only been asleep for a few seconds when a knock startled him awake. He jerked upward in the chair, pulling his hand from Sam's, eyes tracking immediately to Sam and then the monitors before glancing at the door.

"Hey," Rebecca said, stepping slowly into the room. Dean nodded in greeting, rubbing his hand over his face in an effort to wake up. "How's Sam?" she asked after she reached the other side of the bed.

Dean stretched before slumping back into the chair, his gaze never leaving Sam. "They say he's going to be fine. Though I'd be more inclined to believe it if he'd wake up."

Rebecca nodded as she dropped into a second chair. They were both silent for a long moment, each looking at Sam, before Rebecca spoke. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" Dean asked, startled by the comment. "You didn't do this," he said, gesturing toward Sam.

"I'm the reason you're here, all the same."

Dean shrugged before shaking his hand. "This is what we do. Besides, Sam's nothing if not loyal to his friends."

"I know. It still surprised me to see him on my doorstep, though. Especially after the way he left school."

Looking at Sam, Dean nodded absently. And although he didn't want to admit it, he said, "He hated leaving."

She smiled sadly. "We miss him." Dean gave a jerky nod in response, his jaw clenched tight, but didn't speak. A moment later, Rebecca added, "But I think maybe he missed you more." Dean looked up suddenly, startled. She must have seen something on his face because Rebecca added, "He only mentioned you a time or two but..." She shrugged, apparently at a loss for words. "He missed you."

Dean swallowed roughly and looked at Sam. He couldn't admit, not even to himself really, how much hearing that meant. He would certainly never admit it to Sam - it wasn't how things were done. That didn't mean he wouldn't store it away for when the inevitable came and Sam left him. Again. He shivered at the thought, absently wishing he still had his leather jacket.

"How long will you stay?" Rebecca asked, startling Dean from his thoughts.

Shrugging, Dean gestured toward Sam. "Until Sleeping Beauty awakes," he muttered, ruffling Sam's hair. He ignored the disappointment he felt when Sam didn't - couldn't - respond.

Rebecca nodded and stood. "I have to go," she said, gesturing toward the door. "Call me when he wakes?"

"Of course."

Rebecca smiled, weakly. "Thanks."

Dean didn't watch her walk out of the room; rather he continued to stare at Sam. Maybe if he stared at him long enough Sam would wake up and tell him to stop. Dean snickered. He really needed to get some sleep if that even remotely made sense.

The next time Dean was startled from sleep it was by the sound of choking. Jumping up, his chair falling backwards, Dean grabbed for Sam's flailing hand at the same time he punched the nurse call button.

"Hey, Sammy. Calm down," he said, trying to get Sam's attention. He managed to get hold of Sam's hands before they could grasp the tube that still fed down Sam's throat.

Even when panicked eyes met his Dean couldn't help the relieved smile that turned his lips. "You're okay." Freeing one hand, Dean brushed Sam's hair away from his face hoping it would help calm him.

Sam blinked, calming but eyes still bright with panic. Before Dean could say more, several people rushed into the room - alerted both by the call button and the monitors now flashing beside the bed. Dean was unceremoniously pushed aside as they rushed to do their jobs. That didn't stop him, however, from trying to keep eye contact with Sam.

When the chaos had quieted and the doctors and nurses had left the room, Dean righted his chair and once more sunk into it. Sam tried to speak only to give up and touch his throat gingerly with his fingers. Dean winced at the rough sound and offering Sam a glass of water, holding the straw to Sam's lips.

Sam grimaced after only one drink and looked at Dean. "Wha hap'nd?" he managed to whisper, his hand not leaving his throat.

"Rebecca and me were almost too late," Dean replied, dropping back into his seat. "Got there just in time to watch wannabe finishing you off."

There must have been something in his voice, because Sam gave him an odd look before saying, "N't y'u."

Dean cringed - both at the broken voice as well as what Sam was saying. He had been afraid of what he would do if Sam had been scared of him. Dean still wasn't sure how he would react to Sam flinching away from him. Even if Dean knew he deserved it after what had happened.

"Y'u 'kay?" Sam asked, startling Dean. Dean couldn't help but shift around under the heavy, if squinting, gaze.

"What?" Dean asked. "I'm not the one who had a tube down his throat, Sam." When in doubt, Dean couldn't help thinking, deflect. "I'm fine." The look Sam gave him said he thought otherwise but luckily, to Dean's thinking, he didn't press the issue.

When Sam's eyelids started to droop, Dean said, "Go back to sleep, Sammy. I'll be here when you wake up."

"Th'ks," Sam replied, smiling sleepily.

It was only when Sam was soundly asleep, with just the sound of the heart monitor echoing in the room, that Dean felt himself relax. Sam had woken up and been himself. It was more than Dean had let himself hope for when he'd rushed into the house and found Sam lying _dead _on the floor.

Turning his chair so that it paralleled Sam's bed, Dean reached through the rail and interlaced his fingers with Sam's. He'd deny it, if Sam woke first, but for the moment he still desperately needed the connection - the proof that he hadn't failed and lost the most important thing.

Because even sitting in some nameless hospital in St. Louis, Dean knew he was home. Sam was there, alive if not quite whole just yet, and they were together. Really, it was almost all Dean had ever let himself ask for.

fin


End file.
